


Perfectly Flawed

by burlesquecomposer



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, Jealous Keith, M/M, Mild Smut, Possessive Keith, Sap. Lots of sap, This wasn't supposed to have plot, oblivious lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:10:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7654996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesquecomposer/pseuds/burlesquecomposer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because Lance is not only beautiful but also <i>passionate</i>, and Keith loves him for it.</p><p>He <i>loves</i> him.</p><p>Is that why it hurts so much? When Lance looks at someone else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfectly Flawed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loozers19](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loozers19/gifts).



> This wasn't really supposed to have plot, but it just kinda took the keys and drove off with me, in the backseat, screaming,
> 
> Written for Soph who wanted possessive/jealous Keith! Not a request, just an indulgence :)

Lance is so gorgeous that sometimes Keith wants to die.

He hadn’t seen just how beautiful at first. He’d been too caught up glaring at Lance’s dramatic pout or shit-eating grin when they bickered to notice the slight dip of his cupid’s bow, the pearly edge of his teeth grazing his tongue, the dimples in his cheeks. It wasn’t until they’d been dating for a few weeks that Keith found himself near enough, while brushing their teeth of all things, Lance ducking in to give him gross toothpaste kisses so that wintergreen pierced into his cinnamon, to see the flecks of blue in his eyes when he lingered close.

Lance always grimaces and asks him why on earth Keith buys cinnamon toothpaste. Keith never tells him the truth — that Keith’s cinnamon purchase only occurred because the convenience store was out of stock on everything else, but now he buys cinnamon all the time so that the heat engulfing his mouth will wash away when joined by the ice of Lance’s lips.

So Keith shrugs and says he doesn’t care, even though Keith initially hated the cinnamon toothpaste and the feeling has never completely gone. Brushing teeth doesn’t need to be enjoyable, he says, it doesn’t really matter. But Lance, for some reason, gets fired up about it; protests, of _course_ it should be enjoyable if you do it _every day_ , and rants on about something to do with living life in the best of ways at all times, that something as small as brushing teeth can make your day better if it’s with the right toothpaste. And he’s so immersed in his one-man argument that he doesn’t see Keith’s tiny smile as he ducks down to pull on his jeans.

Because no matter how much Keith might be stressed over the upcoming day, Lance has that magical quality about him that chases away the bad shit with mundane little nothings that Keith never thought could matter.

Because even though Lance complains about the cinnamon, every damn time, that doesn’t stop him from kissing Keith every morning and night they’re together.

Because Lance is not only beautiful but also _passionate,_ and Keith loves him for it.

He _loves_ him.

Is that why it hurts so much? When Lance looks at someone else?

They’ve waited at Five Lion Brew for a few minutes, enough for Lance to _think_ he’s figured out what he’s ordering (by the time he gets up to the counter, he’ll either change his order or ask the barista to surprise him). Keith leans over to tell him, _again_ , that the raspberry special will only be available for another few days, so he should get it now if he wants to try it, when Hunk and Pidge step inside and Lance’s attention is quickly drawn elsewhere.

“Hunk! Pidge! There you are, I was getting worried!”

“Oh, because crossing campus is _so_ dangerous.”

“I wasn’t worried about _you_ , Pidge, I was worried about Hunk!”

“Dude, it was _one time_.”

“You fell so hard your jeans ripped at the knee! You asked the barista for napkins with blood all over your hands! I have a _right_ to be concerned about the _dangers_ of this campus.”

Pidge stares at him. “You fell today, didn’t you.”

He did. Keith remembers, vividly, Lance’s foot catching the curb; he would have eaten concrete for breakfast if Keith hadn’t been there to catch him by his hoodie.

Lance just growls it away and tousles Pidge’s hair until they bat him off. Keith thinks back to the last time Lance had played with his hair. He can’t find a specific instance. Then Lance grins and claps Hunk on the arm with a greeting, and they do the “secret” handshake they’ve been doing since they were kids, and Keith thinks, _Lance and I don’t have that._

When was the last time they even kissed?

 _Like, five minutes ago, dumbass,_ Keith scolds himself, shaking his head clear. _Get a grip._  And Lance was the one who initiated. He doesn’t have any right to complain.

Then Lance asks, “Where’s Shiro?” with that hopeful smile of his, and the pitiful, sour sensation of jealousy is back.

Shiro still hangs out with the four of them, but he has a girlfriend now, Allura, and she’s so busy with track and field that they don’t see him very often and her, less often. Keith doesn’t have a single problem with Shiro — he’s perfect, honestly, so nice and accommodating and sweet yet firm, stern when he needs to be, and a complete gentleman overall — but maybe that _is_ the problem, because Keith has already been made aware of Lance’s old abandoned crush on Shiro and it still burns him up. Just a bit, just enough.

Shiro’s _taken_ , dammit. And even if he wasn’t, Lance would never cheat. Lance would never leave Keith just because his old crush was single again. Lance is too good for that.

He loves Lance. God, so much.

“You okay, Keith?”

Keith blinks at Pidge, because Pidge is normally only half-conscious and half-demonic in the mornings before coffee. But he nods. “Yeah, fine. Just tired. Should we get our coffee?”

“God, I really need it,” Hunk groans. “I’ve got a chem exam in three hours, I’m not waiting for Shiro.”

Lance immediately chats with Hunk in the coffee line, drilling him with a few chemistry questions before asking him general things about his plans for the today. Keith has no right to be jealous, because they’ve been friends for years, and Lance ought to pay attention to his best friend. Lance talks more with the strangers in line — that boy might be looking at him funny, maybe — and graces the tall nice barista with a sunny smile like he does every morning, and Keith wills away the glare that comes to his face naturally. Lance can have friends. Lance _has_ friends. Hell, Lance is friends with just about anyone, whether they like it or not. But Keith, Keith is _weak_ sometimes, so he reaches out to take Lance’s hand, weave their fingers together, feel the warmth between their palms.

Lance doesn’t even seem to notice.

And it’s that, more than anything, that puts yet another ache in his chest like a cluster of ticking time bombs.

 

~

 

Keith comes home just as Lance is getting out of the shower, which just about kills him where he stands, but at least he can do something about it.

“Hey,” Lance says. His smile is big and relaxed. “I made some extra spaghetti, it’s in the fridge if you wa—” but Keith is suddenly kissing him with a hunger seeking to be satisfied elsewhere, and Lance, his dark skin warm and damp, is okay with that, even if he complains a little that he just showered but pulls him in anyway. Keith gets him to bed and tugs off his own shirt and kisses him again, feeling Lance’s lashes still wet against his cheek, and he’s never felt so lucky.

He gets a thrill from it, the way Lance opens up so easily underneath him. The heave of his chest, the twist of his features, the pitiful furrow of his brow, the part of his lips as he moans and tries to tell Keith how close he is, only for Keith to draw him down again, slow, torturous, until Lance is messy and begging for more than his fingers. He’ll deny it later, but Keith doesn’t mind — as long as he gets the view now, stores it all away for later, remembers just how much Lance wants him.

And Lance is pliant, eager, as Keith flips him over onto his stomach and rides him into the mattress until he can’t speak. Until his hair is scattered about and finally dry, bangs hiding his eyes as he buries his face into the sheets just enough so that he can still breathe, even if finding his breath is difficult when Keith is nearly fucking it out of him. The small of Lance’s back is hot under his hand as he presses him down, Lance’s spine a sharp curve that Keith loves to travel more than Europe or Asia or anywhere else, a span of moles and freckles and dimples and blush blotches that he traces with his lips and teeth.

Then Keith rises to Lance’s shoulder and bites down on it, hard, pulling a sharp keen out of Lance that’s followed by a litany of curses in two languages and Keith’s name, desperate and pleading, and that, in a way, pleases Keith more than any orgasm could.

_Mine._

“Shit. Gonna have to take another shower,” Lance croaks once they’re lying side by side. Keith rests his head on Lance’s chest while he gets fingers run through his hair, _finally_ , a touch that could tangle the ends terribly but doesn’t, somehow.

Keith hums, feeling the vibration echo across Lance’s skin. “Shower together?”

Lance gives him a look before he laughs, a bit breathless and weak in that department. “You’re hopeless.”

“For you.”

“Oh.” Lance turns red again, and Keith snorts and kisses him again before dragging him into the bathroom where he lets Lance take the reins for a round.

Later, when Lance goes through his nighttime facial routine, Keith is sitting in bed when he hears a wail that echoes through the apartment.

“ _KEITH!_ What did you _do_ to me?!”

Keith turns a page in his book and tells him, with a secret smile, to wear a scarf tomorrow.

Part of him feels bad for leaving a mark the way he’s done, mottled crescents of his teeth in plain sight, right on his neck-shoulder junction that no top short of a turtleneck could hide. But another part of him, the somewhat shameful yet satisfying part, is happy to make a statement.

His own possessiveness still burns, like a tiny monster in him waiting to come out, but for now he’s found a way to deal with it.

 

~

 

Coming to this party was a mistake.

Keith tries to stick with Lance the whole night because he doesn’t really know anyone here who’s not ass-over-heels wasted. But Lance said he wanted to go because Coran’s parties are the best, and Keith had nothing better to do, and maybe he wanted to make sure Lance would get home safe at the end of the night. Except now, as he nurses a Pepsi and scans the room for signs of sober life, he sees that there is none — not even Lance.

Pidge is off in the corner playing King’s Cup with a big circle. Pidge has the advantage on the gendered cards, since they don’t have to drink for either. Shiro and Allura are nowhere to be found, which tells Keith they found a room to make out in. Hunk’s got main commentary on the shitty horror movie someone put on to which they’ve now set a drinking game to. Lance knocks back another jello shot with a group — some guys from his kines class, apparently — and knocks shoulders with them affectionately.

Keith frowns and bites it back. Lance can have fun. It’s fine. He swallows down the rest of his Pepsi, and the carbonation hurts his throat as it goes down. Worth it, for the effect.

“Keith, you want in?” Lance asks from the table.

“I’m good,” he says, waving his empty cup at him.

“Aw, c’mon, just one?” Lance holds out a tiny paper shot-cup and jiggles it until it shines. “A red one, your favorite color~”

Lance shouldn’t be this endearing when he’s drunk. He gets a little too loud, sometimes shouting over the music when he doesn’t need to. He’s a little sweaty, which Keith is used to, but he also smells like a combination of all the drinks he’s had tonight. Lance has a high tolerance but believes that means he can throw any drink together no matter how terrible it tastes or how bad it is for his body.

Keith sighs. “All right. Just one.”

“ _Fuck_ yeah!” Lance grins and tugs him into the circle. They’ve all got their own cups now, though one dude looks like he couldn’t help himself and is already licking the leftover jello out of the bottom, and he quickly grabs another.

“One, two, three.”

They all knock it back. Keith winces, but once it’s actually sliding down his throat, he realizes it’s a good feeling. The tingling burn, the rising warmth, the sweet fruity punch of the jello.

“What was that?”

“ _The Kraken~_ ” Lance says dramatically. “It’s rum.”

“Tastes like nail polish remover.”

“Too much?”

“No, I like it.”

Lance smiles and looks like he’s about to kiss him when one of the other boys grabs his attention. And suddenly they’re talking. And talking. And talking. Keith tries to keep up, but they’re discussing kines, a conversation topic that isn’t at all suited for Keith’s area of study — astronomy — before moving on to sports — Lance likes baseball and soccer, _fútbol_ as he still calls it — and finally on to the body.

They’re only talking about the gym. About various muscles they need to tone, even though Keith thinks Lance is perfectly fine the way he is, and about the exercises they’re doing and what their goals are. But soon Lance is showing off his arm and his friend is touching his bicep.

It shouldn’t bother him so much, except Keith is watching the boy’s eyes, and he doesn’t like the way they sort of wander.

Keith steps closer to Lance’s side and winds both arms around Lance’s elbow. He lets his fingers trail down the inside of Lance’s forearm, all the way down to his wrist, the heel of his palm, curling through to graze his knuckles. He gives the boy a look, hoping it’s as subtle as he’s trying for.

The fact that he backs off quickly, comes up with an excuse to leave, and heads off to find other people tells Keith that at least he was correct in his assumption.

“What a nice dude,” Lance says, and Keith wants to press his fists into his eyes. Lance doesn’t even fucking _notice_ , and hell, he’s not an idiot, but especially when he’s drunk he sure is oblivious. It’s only after looking down at where their hands are joined that he smiles, leaning against Keith in return. “You only had one shot. You burning up already?”

Keith shouldn’t drink much at all because he’s supposed to be driving them home at the end of the night. But he’s fired up, irritated and prickly, and he needs to take a slight edge off. Here, and elsewhere.

“I’ll have one more, and then we can burn it off in the car.”

When Keith eyes him up and down, Lance squeaks and hands him a shot-cup.

 

~

 

“Keith.”

“Mm?”

“ _Keith._ ”

He perks up, hazy, because he wants to keep kissing Lance but Lance is frowning a little, and that’s not what this is supposed to be.

They haven’t been making out in the kitchen for very long. Keith found him cooking there when he’d returned from the library, and maybe there’s something hot about Lance with a knife in his hand, what can he say, so he’d stepped into the picture with arms slipping around Lance’s waist and languid kisses peppering along the slope of his shoulders.

Except now Lance is upset about something. Keith steps away, watching him.

“Hey, don’t look so…” Lance starts, then stops to sigh. “Jesus. You _know_ that kicked puppy stare kills me.”

Keith folds his arms. “I don’t look like a kicked puppy.”

“Tell that to Sarah McLachlan, you look like you’ve stepped right out of an SPCA commercial.”

Keith frowns, letting the comment roll off. “What’s wrong, Lance?”

Lance takes a minute to pull off his apron and wash his hands. Keith loves those hands. In his hair, on his cheeks, in his own palm, fingers tangled. But he remembers them, too, on Pidge’s head, hanging over Hunk’s shoulder as he curls an arm around him, spreading flat on Shiro’s back when he comes up to greet him.

Lance’s hands are never fully Keith’s alone, and dammit, that really shouldn’t get to him as much as it does.

“I should be asking you the same,” Lance says finally. “What’s up with you, Keith? You get all distant when we go hang out. All you want to do when we’re home is have sex. Which, granted, is _damn_ nice, but I feel like… there’s something else to it.”

Keith swallows.

Lance can’t know how _ugly_ he is inside. How much he wants Lance all to himself sometimes, even though Lance doesn’t deserve that, his friends don’t deserve that, and nothing _, really_ , needs to change. Because when Keith thinks about it, Lance tells him all the time how much he loves him, and that should be enough. And it _is_.

Except, for a tiny part of him, for some stupid fucking reason, it _isn’t_.

“It’s nothing.”

“Keith, we’ve been over this — you’re really bad at lying.”

Keith sighs. “Fine. It’s not nothing. But it’s not something you have to worry about.”

Lance bristles. “Nuh uh. No. That’s not how this works, Keith. We’ve been together for several months. I tell you my shit and you tell me your shit. Honesty is the best policy and all that.” He kicks Keith’s ankle, softly. “I’ve watched my parents argue too much over little things that could’ve easily been solved if they’d just talked to each other, so if there’s a problem, we figure it out.”

Keith grumbles and plants his gaze on the linoleum floor. Scuff marks here, a little spilled flour there. It’s fascinating. “I just…” He sighs. “I don’t want you to think less of me.”

Lance is exasperated. “For _what?”_

Keith grips tighter at his own arms. “For the way that I feel sometimes, Lance. It’s _stupid_ , and ugly, and wrong. That’s not a side of me I want you to see.”

He doesn’t know when Lance got so close, stepping into his space like that, but suddenly his hands are on Keith’s shoulders and they feel so nice there.

“Look, your home life was kind of terrible, so I understand that you probably don’t know what a _good_ relationship looks like outside of TV,” Lance says. Keith bites his tongue, because that’s a raw feeling Lance has brought up, but he knows it’s sort of true. “But when you love someone, you love _every_ part of them. Not just the good stuff, like how cute they are when they wake up with messy hair, or how pretty their lashes are, or how damn _attractive_ their laugh is. But the bad stuff, too. You take both in stride, because after a while, the good stuff outweighs the bad stuff and the bad stuff can even be nice stuff, too.”

Keith looks him over and says, “Lance, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. But neither does love, not really.”

Keith frowns because Lance seems so earnest but he doesn’t comprehend all this. He doesn’t _get it_. Why would Lance want to see the bad parts of him? Won’t that only make Lance dislike him?

“Here, how about this, Keith?” Lance takes a deep breath. “I’m loud and obnoxious. I make the _worst_ puns and you hate every single one of them. I’m clean everywhere else but I hate washing dishes because Mom always makes me do them when I go home, so I don’t want to do them when I’m here.”

“I don’t _hate_ your puns—”

“And I’m super insecure,” Lance continues. “Like, _awfully_ insecure. I constantly worry that I’m not good enough and never will be. But you, you’re good at pretty much everything you do, and I _wish_ I could have just a few of your talents. And uh… sometimes I’ll worry you’ll leave me if you ever find someone better than I am. I shouldn’t think that, but it just… happens.”

Keith blinks. He’s never heard this from Lance, because he’s always so cool and confident. Keith knows that a lot of it is false bravado, an act he puts on, but he doesn’t blame him — most people need to put on a smile to face the day in this world. Lance, even more.

“So,” Lance says, “after I’ve given you all those flaws — and I’ve got a _lot_ if you’re looking to list — do you think less of me?”

Keith frowns, biting his lip. “Of _course_ not,” he says.

But for Keith, it’s different. For Keith, his flaw is something that crosses over into Lance’s life. The two of them share a lot of things nowadays, but he doesn’t want to share this one. Lance doesn’t deserve to put up with that.

Lance rubs Keith’s shoulders. “Your turn.”

“Lance…”

“Come on, Keith,” he whines, “I just shared my inner demons with you.”

“Fine,” he says, throwing himself out of Lance’s grasp. “Okay! Fine! You want to know? I’m… I’m _possessive_ of you. God, just saying that makes me feel like a creep. But I see you with other people, how happy you are with them, and I get jealous. And I _shouldn’t_ , christ, you’re my _boyfriend_. And you’re allowed to have friends, Lance, _obviously_ I’m not going to control your life like that. But sometimes other people touch you or you touch other people and I just _lose it._ ”

Keith runs his hands through his hair. He doesn’t want to look at Lance, but his gaze goes up on its own, and Lance is _staring_ at him with saucer eyes.

“You’re… _what?”_

“Fuck, you hate me.“ Keith puts his face in his hands, but he’s more angry than anything, furious at himself for becoming this way. “I know, I know, it’s _stupid_.”

“Wait, I need to understand this,” Lance says. He paces the small space of the kitchen. “You’re jealous of other people I meet? Or our friends?”

“Mostly the first, but… the second one, too.”

“Even Pidge? Pidge is aro, Keith. And Hunk, Hunk is like my _brother_.” Lance pauses. “Even Shiro?”

“ _Especially_ Shiro.”

“Keith, you know that never went anywhere and never will.”

“I _know_ , Lance, that’s the point,” Keith fumes. “I have this _irrational_ feeling — well, it’s not always irrational. Remember that guy at Coran’s party, with the snapback, in your kines class? He was flirting with you—”

“Who, _Nico?_ No way!”

“ _Yes_ , way, Lance! Like, _way_ flirting, right in front of me! Imagine how that fucking made me feel! But sometimes I’m wrong, okay? Sometimes I’m just being a dick and thinking too much into it, and I have no idea what to do about it other than one of the main things we do together with no one else, and that’s sex. And I like marking you up so people know you’re taken, is that…? Yeah, fuck, that’s wrong.”

He finds himself trembling. He’s talking too much, _way_ oversharing, but now Lance should know. He should know all the terrible things about him, the things that keep him up at night, the things that make him feel disgusted with himself because he loves Lance and wants to keep him in his life, more than anything.

But he also wants Lance to be happy and free. He deserves that much.

Lance has paused for a few moments, taking it all in. Finally, his brow furrows.

“You mentioned touching,” he says. “I… Do I do it a lot?”

“Lance, you don’t need to change,” Keith says. “But it’s not just you, it’s other people around you, too. You’re… physically affectionate, and that’s not a bad thing, that’s just who you are.”

“Do you get jealous when I touch other people, and not you?”

Keith thinks about it. Remembers all those times Lance seemed so touchy-feely with people he’d just met. Remembers Lance smiling bright and laughing near-hysterically when someone told him a joke only he found funny, and the way he’d leaned on them, and the way Keith had always felt the fire inside slowly consume him.

He nods.

“Keith,” Lance says. “Keith, you _hate_ when I touch you.”

“What?!” It’s Keith’s turn, now, to be bewildered. “Where the fuck did you get that idea?”

“A few months ago!” Lance throws up his hands. “You’d always get annoyed when I kissed you in public and held your hand! And I know it’s cutesy shit and everyone around us hates it but _I_ like it. But then you told me to quit it, so I stopped.”

Keith frowns. “I didn’t tell you to stop! I just… We’re two guys, Lance. I don’t want the attention.”

“You seem to now.”

Fuck. He’s right. Keith doesn’t know where his brain flipped over, how his attitude towards this whole thing turned a heel and walked away from everything he used to believe. Maybe it happened when like turned to love. When affection burned within him, ready to come forth.

Keith buries his head in his hands, doubling over. His words are muffled. “I’m sorry. I’ve made a mess of this.”

Lance steps up to him, finally. He puts a hand on Keith’s head and lets it fall through his hair and onto his shoulder.

“Consider it one of your flaws,” he says.

Keith snorts. He comes up, and Lance hugs him, gentle, warm despite how skinny he is. It’s a weight off his shoulders, the feeling of honesty. They should do this more often, even if it’s hard. But, he’s found, it feels much better to tell the truth than to keep it in forever.

“I’ll try to be better,” Lance says.

“No, Lance, you’re fine. It’s fine, it’s all on me.“

“Well, we’ve gotta fix this whole thing. Now that I know how you feel.” He grins. “So you like me that much, do you?”

“Asshole.” Keith playfully hits him, then kisses him. They get sucked into it for a minute before Lance pulls off again.

“You really think I’m good enough that someone could steal me away?”

“Lance, I wonder every day how it is I still have you.”

“Oh my god.” Lance blotches up red. “I’m always thinking the same thing, what the _fuck._ ”

“Jesus Christ. We’re _both_ embarrassing.”

Lance laughs in that perfect way of his, and Keith’s heart briefly stops. Lance says he has flaws, and sure, he does. He’s loud, he’s obnoxious, he doesn’t do dishes, he listens to music while he sleeps, sometimes he snores, and he can get under Keith’s skin the way no one else really can. But maybe Lance was right about those flaws.

Keith has come to love every single one of them.

 

~

 

“Shit, you guys are always late.”

Pidge only throws their middle finger up at Lance. The bags under their eyes are deeper than usual. Keith throws them a smile and a “good morning,” but it only seems to bounce off Pidge, who responds with a “morning” without the “good.” Typical morning Pidge.

Lance turns, instead, to Hunk and Shiro, who smiles sheepishly with Allura at his side. Allura hides what they all later discover is a hangover behind a pair of sunglasses. She gives them all a smile and a brief hello before making a beeline for the counter, and the rest of them follow.

Keith tries not to believe, as he usually does, that anyone who glances their way is sizing up Lance. Still, he can’t help but throw around the occasional glare as he takes Lance’s arm and sticks close.

Once they all sit together, Keith yawns and sits next to Lance. He slept well, but in the slept-so-much-he’s-sleepy sort of way. Lance helped him comb out his cowlicks before they left the apartment.

“Hey Lance,” Hunk says.

“What?”

“Why did the hipster burn his tongue?”

Lance grins. “Why?”

“Because he drank his coffee before it was cool.”

Keith snorts, but it’s Lance who laughs aloud, waking up the whole café, like it’s the funniest thing in the entire world. His eyes crinkle and they’re so pretty to look at, and his dimples get deeper with his smile.

Then Lance reaches over Hunk’s shoulder and jostles him, hugging him close, and he touches Shiro’s shoulder because even he is laughing. The tiny flame returns to Keith’s stomach. Did Lance listen at all? Hell, but Keith did tell him not to change. Lance doesn’t need to change.

This is fine, he tells himself. Lance is allowed to be close to his friends. They talked about this, for an hour after their original argument, going over their insecurities and fears and worries until they fell asleep together, tangled and sprawled in the sheets.

One day, Keith will get over this, and he’ll be fine.

But then, with his arm around Hunk, Lance glances over at Keith and smirks.

_Oh, you fucker._

Lance finds an opportunity, moments later, to lean in close to Keith. Keith can smell the raspberry syrup on his breath, and either his lips are a tiny bit pinker because of it or it’s just Keith’s imagination. But Lance only brings his smile to Keith’s ear, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“I might’ve forgot to mention,” he says. “But now that I know you’re possessive over me, I find it kinda hot.”

Keith slaps a hand over his ear and shoves Lance away, feeling the heat already blooming in his cheeks, because Lance is a _terrible_ whisperer and a terrible person in general and a little _shit_ overall. But Lance just holds his stomach and laughs for a full minute despite the confused looks from the rest of the party.

He takes Keith’s hand under the table, though, which is enough for now.

More than enough.

Hell, he thinks, he might even say it’s perfect.


End file.
